#Writing coronations

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to A Coronation

Coronations are the ceremony in which your monarch is confirmed by church or state or the people by the bestowing of a crown and regalia and the taking of oaths. So how do we write them?

When does Coronation takes place?

A Coronation usually takes place some time after death of the previous monarch. Past coronations would take place mere weeks after the death of a monarch as it was essential that the monarch be crowned to confirm their legitimacy. Modern coronations would take place months after the death of a monarch. In this time period, the new monarch IS the monarch - just uncrowned. This does not effect their powers in any way.

What’s in a Coronation?

Coronations are usually very lavish affairs. These are not only just ceremonies, these are statements a sort of opening show to the monarch's reign. A Coronation will usually be accompanied by numerous parades, balls, pageants, military displays and concerts. It's usually framed as a celebration of the Royal family of the monarch or the nation as a whole. The population is expected to celebrate.

Who attends a Coronation?

Coronations were big affairs. Many invitations would be sent out, inviting representatives from other nations, friends and allies, even uncertain friends and unfriendly nations. Other monarchs are generally not invited out of tradition but they will send heirs and relatives to represent them. Coronations were a display of wealth and power and it was in the monarch's best interest to get as many people there as possible. Coronations were also essential to monarchy for one very good reason: not only were you recognised by the state but it was a chance to accept fealty - promises of loyalty - from nobles. Many nobles from across the land would be invited to witness and then profess their loyalty to the Monarch.

What to Wear to a Coronation?

Coronations were meant to be pageants so everybody wore their very best clothes, jewels and put their best foot forward. Peers or nobles would wear red velvet robes (see above) over their clothes along with coronets (also see above) denoting rank. Traditional clothing would also be encouraged, the Japanese Imperial family often don traditional garments for their enthronements. The Royal family would wear military uniform or royal robes usually purple velvet rather than red trimmed with ermine. They would also wear coronets. The monarch would usually be the most expensive dressed, yet however this can also backfire. The monarch has to be modest yet also outdone everybody. George IV made the grave faux pas of spending a shit ton of money on his outfit for the coronation which he only wore the once. Most monarchs tend to have their Robes and clothes embroidered with emblems of the nation and to wear significant relics during the ceremony.

The Ceremony

After a procession through the streets the monarch and/or their Consort arrive on the scene. They will be wrapped in red velvet Robes on their arrival and accompanied by pages or maids of honour who help carry the train of their Robes.

Before the monarch, selected peers will carry the regalia. These are the relics that are bestowed on the monarch throughout the ceremony. These usually include the crown itself, the sceptres, the coronation ring, the coronation Robes and an orb.

In some instances, the monarch would be presented to the assembled crowd at each Cardinal point - North, south, east, west and proclaimed the undoubted king/queen/sovereign. It is then the crowd issue an acceptance.

Monarchs would then be asked to take oaths by the figure ordaining them before the assembled crowd. These oaths would be one of service, something along the lines of promising to uphold law and tradition, being merciful, trying not to murder the peasants too much, keep their deity on side and try not to be too much of a failure.

Then monarch will sit on the throne and be anointed. During this part, they usually put a linen smock over their clothes to protect their finery. The anointing in Western culture is usually linked to Christianity, with the application of holy oil. However, the annointing can be replaced with a blessing in any other setting. During this part of the ceremony, the monarch and/or the Consort is shielded by a canopy of cloth of gold held aloft by high ranking nobles. This part of the ceremony is not to be witnessed by the crowd. It is sacred.

Then the monarch is wrapped in their new Robes. They are presented the regalia. The orb represents the monarch's power. The ring is symbolic of wedding oneself to duty. The sceptre is symbolic of power over governance. Once the monarch has been wrapped up and given these items, the Crown is then lowered onto their head. The crown is usually a jewel stubbed coronet fitted over a velvet cap and trimmed with ermine. There would be the monarch's crown and the Consort's crown (which is usually that much smaller). Around them, the nobility will place their coronets on simultaneously while the military give a gun salute.

After this, the Royal family and the peers would then come and kneel before the monarch, removing their coronets and making their oath of "I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors according to law. So help me God." Once the path is made, they can step back and put their coronet back on.

Once homage is paid, the Consort would then be crowned if this is a married couple having their coronation. Consorts do not have to take an oath but they are given a coronation ring, a crown and sceptres.

Once everybody has made their oaths and the monarch can barely move under their Robes and regalia, it is time for the monarch to make a procession back through the streets - now a crowned monarch.

When Coronations go Wrong

Like most ceremonies, things can go wrong at coronations. Most coronations go off without a hitch yet there are always downsides to a large, expensive ceremony of an unelected figurehead. Surprisingly.

Coronations are often long affairs. There are numerous historical accounts of peers and guests fainting from the exertion of standing in such heavy Robes. These Robes were not only deadly because of heat exhaustion but also their length. The elderly Lord Rolle actually fell down a flight of steps at Queen Victoria's coronation.

Many past coronations have failed due to poor planning. Nicholas II and his Consort Alexandra's coronation was a very lavish affair however due to terrible planning, a stampede occurred where thousands of Russian people where injured and killed. Despite the tragedy, the Couple did not visit the site or the injured, instead going to the French ambassador's ball on bad advice. History would remember him as Bloody Nicholas, made all the more bloody by the Revolution years after.

George IV, as per usual, caused consternation at his own coronation by constantly walking out from under his canopy which caused the nobles holding it to speed up making it all look rather silly.

Guestlists are often contentious points. It is very important not to jar international relations by snubbing foreign powers. While some of the nobles are invited, it is usually expected that the crown will invite representatives from all nations. If invitations are not issued, it can lead to issues. The Royal family is nearly always invited in its entirety even despite criminal activity (fuck you Andrew) but sometimes snubs are issued. Caroline of Brunswick, the rightful Queen Consort, was actually barred from being crowned by her husband. Its rumoured that her hammering on the door could be heard throughout George IV's coronation. Edward VIII, the King who abdicated over his love for Wallis Simpson, was not invited to either his brother's subsequent coronation or his niece's due to the optics of him being a former king and his rumoured ties to Britain's enemies.

Queen Victoria's coronation got off to a very bad start since the coronation ring had been made too small and then shoved onto the wrong ring. Victoria wrote in her diary that she had to rest her hand in ice for the rest of the day.

Coronations are framed as ceremonies of celebrations and national might and while that may be their intention, they are very often, rightly, subject to criticism. Coronations are widely expensive and very often are a display out outdated or unpopular ideals especially modern coronations. In a post WWI world the time of difference is now over and the media rightly critises such an expensive and outdated ceremony. Many monarchies have hastened to modernise to keep up with the new world, cutting down the budgets and revamping the ceremonies. The Swedish monarchs are no longer crowned but instead invested through an oath and sitting on their famous Silver Throne. However, many feel that coronations are becoming a thing of the past and may not be seen in the future.

[bluerosefox]

Always Favors You

Another Sibling Danny and Jason idea!!

"Are you Jason Peter Todd?!" demanded a deep and commanding tone from the strange glowing being in front of them.

All the Bats stiffened and tensed, no doubt gearing up for a fight against the being that somehow knew Red Hood's full name.

Jason, Red Hood, decided to put on a brave front despite no doubt cursing in his head and wondering how the heck did this thing know his full freaking name.

"Whose asking." he snarled out, his hands twitching for his gun when the huge glowing knight with purple flames coming out of his helmet and cape, who was riding on a nightmare looking horse while they all had been in the cave going over tonight's patrol.

The Knight didn't seemed bothered by his response nor did he even seem to care or flinch when Batman made his own demand on 'Why was he there and who was he' or when Damian unsheathed his sword and pointed it towards him. Instead the strange glowing Knight reached to it side and pulled out... A glowing scroll? Huh. (Also he completely unnerved everyone in the room when the Knight didn't even react when Batman had tossed a Baterang when he reached for his side)

The Knight opened the scroll and spoke clearly with purpose.

"Jason Peter Todd,

You are hereby invited as a special guest of honor to the crowning of our future King of the Infinite Realms.

Daniel Phantom, once Daniel Jackson Fenton, and once Daniel Austen Todd.

Prince of the Infinite Realms, the Keeper of Balance, The Peacekeeping Halfa, the Defeater of the Tyrant King Pariah Dark, The Great One, Youngest of the Ancients, Ancient of Space, The Bridge between Life and Death.

You, the half-brother of our King, have been given the highest of honors for your past actions and will be given housing and food in the Realms and Phantom's Keep, for the week long event. Personal servants and attendants will be at your disposal and a seamstress will be on hand to tailor make your attire for the Coronation.

Signed: Clockwork. Ancient of Time. Watcher of the Infinite Timeline. Kronos. Mentor and Adviser.

PS: I shall have Fright Knight ("Me" the Knight bluntly said for a second) leave this scroll along with a personal one for you from Daniel to read over and once you make up your mind sign the bottom of the scroll.

I do hope in time you will pick the right choice Jason Todd, we of the Infinite Realms would like to reward you for your actions. After all, if you hadn't gotten young Daniel away from your father that night all those years ago, we would never had gained our Prince nor be free from our once Tyrant King.

Ah, one more thing.

The Infinite Realms will always favor you Jason."

Jason felt like he couldn't breath as Fright Knight? Rolled up the scroll, pulled a letter from his side, and held out the two items for him to take.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #27

(Time for something a little more lighthearted/found family. Could probably also make this a crack prompt instead.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

✦

Visitation Rights

When Danny went to list Dani/Ellie as his heir after she'd come back from her years of traveling the world, he was quickly informed that he already had one in line for the thrown.

"What? Since when?!"

The pretentious, floating eyeball looked like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here, providing information to King Phantom, but explained anyway.

"The day you officially achieved royal status, you permanently linked your being to the Infinite Realms. When this happened, however, a child was in the process of being created with the assistance of ectoplasmic runoff that's been leaking into the mortal world for centuries. As a result of your power being incorporated into the Realms at such a time, this human child retained an imprint of your core signature. The Infinite Realms itself has recognized this child as your offspring. Your... other offspring has yet to be recognized in such a way and would therefore be considered your second heir once claimed."

Danny stared at the Observant with wide, blank eyes that were slowly filling with dread and panic.

"Why are you just telling me this now?? My coronation was over a decade ago!" He held his face in his hands and gave a horrified groan at what he just learned.

"If you really wanted that clone as your heir, I'm afraid it's too late to change it-"

Danny's head shot back up with a snarl and furious green eyes.

"That's not what I'm upset about you walking cataracts! Eleven years! I've missed eleven years of this kid's life!! How could you think I-"

At a loss for words, he growled deep in his chest. Deep enough that it echoed throughout the halls and rattled the floors.

"Who is this kid, and where can I find them?"

Once given the information and learning of the child's other parental figures, he gets to work. A few weeks later, he appears in the home office of a well-known billionaire with a stack of papers that he promptly slams onto the desk in front of the startled man. (1)

"I demand visitation rights to our son, Damian Wayne."

✦

(1) Danny actually visited Talia first to get visitation rights. Needless to say, that didn't go very well. He's still got a couple knives floating around in his chest cavity because of it.

(*) ALSO! I'm not sure how this lines up with the DC/Batman timeline. All I figured out is that if Danny waited to be crowned until after he graduated college as an astrophysicist, which take 5 to 7 years, he'd be about 36 years old when he finds out about Damian. Bruce would be about 41, so the age gap is only 5 years. If y'all wanna make this Danny/Bruce, go ahead!

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Text: Once I’m coronated, the seven traditional devils will arrive to hold deadly court with me. Seven coronations have now been sabotaged by my advisor, a father to me in all but blood.

[borom1r]

⚔️ 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ⚔️

Behold, an Ongoing Project! 📯

I've been wanting to compile this for a while, instead of frantically scrambling for references every time I sit down to write — I thought it would be fun to share! I'm mostly tackling this from the perspective of a fanfic author, and also as someone who's very into viking era-through-renaissance men's fashion and armor.

I think it's really fun to look at the decisions that were made strategically (to maintain actor mobility, for example), because they looked cool (Faramir's pointless hinged piece on his helmet), or because they were actually period-accurate (gambesons under chainmail, or worn as armor by themselves!). I'm also taking it as a chance to point out what these garments say about their owners!

I say this in the document itself, but there's no need to credit me if you reference/use the doc for your own writing ^_^ this is some of my favorite stuff to discuss, so just getting to share it is cool enough to me.

I'm purely focusing on human characters to start, because of the more solid real-world parallels, but I'm happy to add on to this if there are other characters you'd like to see!!

(@potatoflower7 + @rivers-for-me, tagging you both bc you interacted w/ the posts I made when I was just starting this!)

[areawest]

I went into a blind rage while watching the coronation livestream and wrote this. enjoy I guess.

[gale-dekarios]

gortash (lowkey forcing) a marriage to one of the upper city nobels to further solidify his push for total control of baldurs gate. he's at the alter with his spouse-to-be when all of a sudden they're pinned to the dias by a spear hit directly through their head, piercing through their open mouth, their "i do" dying with them. there's chaos, screaming, crying all around him, but as he looks towards the bottom of the aisle, shaking with rage and covered in blood, the dark urge, the person he thought was lost to him forever, returns home. he hopes he can survive their wrath long enough to reunite properly.

[dykespence]

Imagine being carla connor and you just got in bed with the woman you've had an absolute massive crush on for ages now and then you're IMMEDIATELY turned down and it's like an actual sucker punch to the gut and then you're just thawcked over the head girl cannot just catch a break ??

[thetimelordbatgirl]

The portraits of younger heroes and villains in totally-not-EAH-and-SFGAE-rip-off Merlin Academy, if anyone's curious. And like, before anyone goes at me for that nickname for Merlin Academy: the villains group portrait literally has 'V.K students' under it, implying they themselves are children of villains, which just opens up the idea that these kids basically became evil like their parents before them and the only ones to not be evil are the prior Descendants main characters, aka, similar to main characters in EAH and SFGAE. At this point, Disney is losing their right to complain if EAH does ever return because the only one copying right now in Disney.

[lesbiangracehanson]

i’m actually going to need betsy to point blank ask carla, at some point in the near future, if there’s something going on between her and her mum. like surely this week’s events would have her more convinced than ever?? like this is the girl who saw their hands touch one (1) time and concluded they fancied each other, she’s now witnessed them have a whole domestic coparenting argument!!! about her!!!

[bluerosefox]

Friendships Between Realms (YJ and Danny Shenanigans Being Peek Friendship)

So the 90s YJ group got into a lot of shenanigans tbh. Like a lot and mostly without their mentors knowledge. And whenever I think of YJ I think of the Core 4 (mainly cause Tim is my fav, and the Core 4 is just so amazing together) anyways I honestly wouldn't put it past them if they had accidentally summoned or were being sacrificed by some cult, or meet Danny who accidentally fell into their world via a random portal in someway. (In this DC and Phantom universes are not on the same world, fyi)

Like Danny, still new to being a hero but getting the hang of it, meets them, learns some things from them, and actually gets along with them to the point that when he has to leave Robin gives him a communication device to keep in touch (and Robin Tim would, despite being the second most paranoid of the Bats this boy lies to Batman to his face and had hidden an entire Batmoblie cost in the Batarang budget and keeps it with YJ) and Danny does.

It's nice to have hero friends who understand the struggle of balancing hero and normal lives. Don't get him wrong Danny loves Tucker, Sam and Jazz but sometimes they just don't... fully get it. The danger, the stress, the anxiety, the relief when things are solved or saved, etc etc that comes with being a hero or at least try to be one. They don't understand the urge he gets at like 3 am to go patrol Amity Park just to make sure everything is safe. YJ on the other hand does.

He talks to them about his problems and they help out and Danny in turn helps them out too when he can. Like they needed help with Secret, call up Danny see if he knows what kind of ghost she is (he turned to Clockwork and Frostbite in that case) and Danny in turn talked to them about Dan (they told him about them having to face their own future evil self to at one point). Danny talks to Conner when Dani came into the picture, he wants to make sure he doesn't screw up like Superman did towards his clone's feelings and self worth. Etc etc.

Point is, despite being dimensions and Realms apart, YJ and Phantom are friends and have been in touch. He's friends with all the YJ at the time and keeps in touch with them all but is very close with the Core 4. (Danny was the one that reassured Tim when Bruce was thought to be dead. Couldn't find his soul or ghost in the Realms and Clockwork was being 1000% more crypticd about Batman when Danny had asked if he was lost in time, Danny (or CW) couldn't do much to help due to certain rules but Danny could tell Tim "He isn't dead. Just lost. You're not insane Rob I promise."

So imagine a few years later, DCverse is under heavy near world ending supernatural danger and it gets to the point someone in JLD suggests they may have to summon the Ghost King in order to stop it (maybe its an old ancient ghost/spirit someone foolishly unleased). Of course there are some that strongly advise not to, that summoning him would spell the end of everything, but someone else points out they're already close to that edge they already got no other choice.

So they try and it fails and everyone is confused.

Bart, because of course it's gonna be Bart, returns from helping evacuations takes one look at the summoning circle and says.

"Why are you using those outdated sigals and symbols? That'd like trying to call an out of service number." Bart says before he speed texts Tim, Conner, and Cassie to come over.

Tim, RR, takes one look at the circle and asks who they were trying to summon. When told they were trying to get the Ghost King, him and the Core 4 look at each other before Tim pulls out his communicator and texts Danny.

It takes less than a few minutes before RR tells Impulse that Danny was cool with the summoning and to bring him in. Impulse nods and quickly runs around and changes the old summoning circle around with new symbols and sigals. Then RR turns to most of the JLD members and says sternly.

"You all better not memorize this, this is Phantom's personal summoning line and he only wants friends to know it. He gave us permission."

And with Superboy (Conner) and Wonder Girl agreeing with nods.

Before any of the JL or the JLD could really ask or even interrogate what that meant Impulse was done with the preparation. the Summoning circle was changed around with constellations and other signs of stars, there was a bag of fresh burgers and three milkshakes in the middle of it, and under it was a stylized symbol of a D and a P.

Its Impulse who starts the... chant and raises his hands up. (its actually the dumbest song anyone can think of. Danny wanted it to be funny and the Core 4 totally encouraged it) the candles shift from red to green fire, the star symbols start glowing before flying around on the floor in a circle like shooting stars, the area starts feeling like a cold winter wind beginning to blow, and the stylized symbol is glowing green before...

Danny pops up in his Ghost King form (flaming crown, galaxy cape, looking more ghostly than human but still a teen), finishing up the song and laughing. When he spots his friends he's grinning and waving hello to them, all of them greeting him back.

The JL are confused as heck but noticed how shell-shocked most if not all the members of JLD as their staring at what has to be the Ghost King...

Basically. I want Danny to be one of the people/things the 90s YJ did/meet during their insane shenanigans that most of their mentors most likely didn't know about. They all kept in touch and if they knew, and were later invited to the coronation, of Danny becoming the new Ghost King and later needs to bring out the big guns against a supernatural entity and stuns everyone else that they have a friend in a very high place well... yeah.

[dwell-the-brave]

NEW FIC ALERT - 'A King Is But A Man'

“Whereas by an instrument of abdication dated the 12th day of December instant, Her former Majesty Queen Catherine I did declare her irrevocable determination to renounce the throne for herself, and the said instrument of abdication has now taken effect, whereby the Crown of Great Britain, Ireland, and all other Her former Majesty's dominions is now solely and rightfully come to the High and Mighty Henry George Edward James,” announces the Garter King of Arms. Henry asks a footman to turn it off before they can hear any more. The only sounds in the room are the clinking of teaspoons against china, and the distant boom of the 21-gun salutes. *** Queen Catherine I abdicates.

The fifth (and final planned) part of my Heavy Weighs the Crown series has now started posting. You can find it on AO3 -> Here <-

I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a comment or kudos (or both) if you do.

[simplegenius042]

WIP Wednesday & Last Line/s

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @noodlecupcakes @voidika @imogenkol @josephseedismyfather @aceghosts and @inafieldofdaisies

Tagging @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @shellibisshe @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries and @nightwingshero + anyone else who'd like to join.

Guess who finally got their documents working again! Anyway, WIPs and Last Lines for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles. Specifically; a WIP for Jurassic World: Before The Storm and The True Sinners, and a Last Line for two Classroom Of The Elite fics and Silva's Hope and No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden. Kind of a lot, but I've missed this so much. You can find these below the cut:

Here's a WIP for Chapter 2 of Jurassic World: Before The Storm:

Regret.

That is what overcame me when I followed Lisa off the ramp of the ferry.

Once I stood on sturdier ground, the unforgiving heat swept over me quickly.

Lisa had told me to put some summer clothes on; the sleeveless shirt and accompanying short skirt that she had paid for had been her initial suggestion. But I didn’t want to wear those. I didn’t want strangers to see how scrawny and soft I was. And the loose long-sleeve shirt, long baggy pants and my jumper were just too cozy, even if they were more for the colder months.

The uncomfortable temperature had me reconsider if this was a small lapse in judgement.

But no one was paying me much mind, so maybe the clothes helped. If that’s right, then maybe a little heat wouldn’t be so bad.

“Jackie,” Lisa gritted my nickname past her teeth, impatient towards my slow pace. I hadn’t realized that my baggage would be so heavy. I obliged her by picking up the pace.

Though I sped up in pace, Lisa was swifter, and the increasing amount of people clustering together made it more difficult to stay behind her lead.

Luckily the crowd started to dissipate.

I rushed to be by Lisa’s side, lugging my baggage with as much force as I could. The sun lifted an unwanted blanket of hot air over us, and I could not find it in my heart to appreciate the climate. In response to this uncomfortable pressure, I unzipped my jumper. I took a glance at Lisa and found her attention elsewhere.

Here's The True Sinners WIP, where Silva's planning murder while making coffee... but who can blame someone whose recently been kidnapped by the resident ginger soldier:

Jacob dragged Silva through the halls of the old veteran's center, his right hand gripped onto the hem of her dirty coat.

They reached what she assumed to be his office. Jacob opened the door and unceremoniously threw her forward inside. She caught herself from falling, twisting around to face her captor.

He shut the door behind him, the handle's lock clicked in a twist. Jacob crossed his arms as he regarded her, face thinned into a stoic mask.

Blue eyes raked over her disheveled body, specifically how she positioned herself; legs spread apart and slight bent, her left arm spread forward in preparation while her right arm remained closest to her hip, and her dull grey eyes glaring at him. Focused.

He sharply exhaled through his nose, almost like a whistling snort. He leaned against the wall next to the door, eyes on her. Silva didn't drop her guard, not even when he gestured over to a small table.

"Coffee," Jacob tells her. Silva remained in her stance, though confusion did etch across her face.

Jacob gestured once more to the small table. Silva hesitated, eyed Jacob's stature. She took a brief glance over to the table, not enough to lose Jacob in her peripheral though, and opted not to change her stance either, just in case.

She spotted a kettle and some paper cups, and what she assumed to be a jar of grounded coffee beans.

She swiftly placed her eyes back onto him, uncertainty and anticipation brewing within her. Jacob must have noticed, as he stated, "Get yourself a cup of coffee. And if you get one for me, I might be open to explaining your purpose here."

Her eyes narrowed, but refrained from speaking. Silva wasn't sure what his game was. She focused past him to the office door.

She silently exhaled, taking small steps toward the table, grey eyes always on Jacob in case he made any sudden moves.

Once she planted a gloved hand on the small tabletop, she gave one more glare towards him before reluctantly turning her back to him.

With an ear out for any inconspicuous movements Jacob could make, Silva quickly pressed a knuckle against the kettle. Finding it lukewarm, she flicked down the switch.

She dared another glance at Jacob while the kettle heated up, only to stiffen when their stares connected. A palish blue invading her dull grey. A contrast to the sharp grey of Father and the pale hazel of Paul.

He was a militar man. The green forest jacket with the Americana flag was enough to tip her off when they first met, but the ambush... the training grounds of the veteran center had all confirmed her suspicion.

She had been unprepared when she fought back during the raid, only managing to catch him off guard with an admittedly surprised hit, but nothing that could have incapacitated him with his support running at her.

But now they were alone... and once she heard the rising whistle, she twisted her fingers around the handle of her new weapon.

Here's four Last Lines, two each for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles.

The first Last Line is for a Classroom Of The Elite chapter in The UnTitled Stories (a collection of short fics). Ayanokoji and Horikita have lunch together:

"So," I had paused to swallow down the crumbed fish before I asked you, "The first step is to rehabilitate the failures?"

It hadn't been an unsound plan. In fact it was quite logical, which made sense, in hindsight.

"If you've grasped that, you can guess what I'm about to propose," you had told me, and you were correct. The implication was as easy to notice like a car speeding down a crossing.

My initial response was to decline. The word 'no' was on the tip of my mouth, but I refrained. I took a glance at you, and reconsidered my reply.

Knowing you thus far, you would never have allowed me to get as close as you'd already let me back then if I had rejected your proposal. You had made sound points and made your intentions clear. While I had no ambition to reach Class A, as it had not been my goal, you were a curious oddity that I wanted to learn more about. And helping you meant getting one step closer to the answer I sought.

So, I made the only acceptable answer.

"Okay, I'll help."

"I thought you'd say-," you had paused mid-sentence, my words being swiftly picked apart in your mind as you realized what I had said, "Wait, seriously?"

"Dead serious," I parroted your words back. I'd imagine the look of momentary shock should have been amusing, though I couldn't find much humor in the displace as my chopsticks picked up the rest of my crumbed fish.

The second Last Line/s is for a "What If?" Classroom Of The Elite scenario where Amasawa and Yagami went with Ayanokoji to the school. Anyway, have Class D's reaction to the trio:

As Ayanokoji began to depart from his desk, he paused. Horikita heard him let out a sigh, and much to her confusion, dropped his bag on top of his desk.

"What are you-?" Horikita wanted to question, but Ayanokoji soon interrupted her.

"Accepting my fate," he disclosed, not with much emotion, but certainly not his regular monotone.

Horikita blinked at him, shaking her head in confusion, "Huh?"

Ayanokoji only pointed toward Class 1-D's door in response. She turned her gaze toward it, the sliding door left ajar by the few students who left for break. She wasn't sure why...

She stopped her thoughts when she heard it; the rushing steps of someone fast approaching. It wasn't until a familiar magenta-haired fiend slid in front of the door way, cast her gradient dark-red eyes onto her target and propelled herself inside the classroom at such unnatural speed.

"Senpai~!" the twin-tailed girl cheered out as she threw herself at Ayanokoji, who (reluctantly) welcomed her with deflated open arms. The girl tackled Ayanokoji, the force causing both of them to crash to the floor. The ruckus caught the remainder of Class D's attention.

Before Horikita could process what she just witnessed, she heard another rush of footsteps towards the doorway, but this one slowed down to reveal the second of Ayanokoji's companions; a boy with brown hair and green eyes, softly panting and non-discreetly leaning against the frame to recover from the chase.

The third Last Line/s is for Silva's Hope, and Silva gets a short break and a new friend:

"Hey, Dep, so... you hungry?" Boshaw asked, fidgeting with the beer bottle in his hand. Silva glanced at him, raising a brow, "I was gonna heat up the leftover pizza I had in my fridge, and since you're crashing the place, I'm just wondering if you want some."

He seemed anxious, giving her a forced smile as he awaited her answer. At the mention of food, the rumbling pain in her gut demanded she attend to its needs. Silva blew out a relenting exhale.

"Honestly Boshaw... I'd love some pizza," she told him, and she saw how his brown eyes lightened up; like how Elsa was given permission to do a dangerous stunt or Hurk given the go-ahead to blow a Peggie chopper out of the sky. Or given the thumbs up to set something ablaze.

With that reminder, she quickly added, "As long as it's not reheated with your flamethrower. Understood Boshaw?"

Boshaw blew out a playful huff as he stood up on the trailer's roof, "Nah, I learnt my lesson last time I did that. Gets too charred. Don't worry, I've got a microwave laying about inside. And ya can call me Sharky, Dep."

Silva chewed the inside of her cheek, but after some thinking, couldn't see the harm of calling him by his preferred name, "Alright Sharky... as long as you call me Silva. I'm doing a lot more than what's in a deputy's paycheck. Deal?"

She opened out a gloved hand for him to shake on, and it lightened her mood to see the wide cheerful grin as he took her hand, and managed to pull her up onto her two feet, "You've got a deal there, Silva."

The final Last Line/s is for No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden, and have a crumb of Hudson and Pratt content... as they chat waiting for a passed-out Coroner!Silva to wake up:

Watching how quietly [Silva] slept on as Pratt had loudly chugged down his coffee, Joey couldn't disagree with Pratt's comment, regardless of how ill-mannered the jest was.

She's almost like a corpse, she conceded, frowning at the soft breathes she could barely see part their coroner's lips, the egg-shaped timer ticking beside the dark-haired woman's head, within arm-length.

"Hudson, you need to relax. She's a grown woman, remember? She's made the decision to deal with her personal issues herself," Pratt yapped on, and shared a thought, "Not the best way to deal with any issue, true, but it really isn't up to us to interfere if it hasn't affected her job thus far. Besides, you've got to admit she's a bit fun when she's tipsy. Night-outs are never short of entertaining when she's around. Cheeky and funny, too."

Joey gave Pratt a deadpan look, and sighed, "I don't know Pratt. You ever wonder why she drinks though? It worries me. We're pretty much the only ones here she goes out of her way to talk to, with exception to Earl. And she's just cooped up in here, surrounded by... death."

She gestured around the morgue, to the units housing whatever bodies were brought in this week. Once again, she settled her gaze on the deep bags under Silva's eyes, a combined result of the coroner's known insomnia and the amount of effort in she puts to stretch herself thin in overworking herself. Joey huffed, a somberness in her voice, "It's so... isolating. She never shares anything outside her personal life either, and we're the closest people to friends that she's got. It's not normal."

[ficandkaboodle]

Papa’s Favorite Ghoul: Primo

Banner Credit Goes to @saradika-graphics! Word Count: 3281

Man, where do I even begin? I guess by stating that there’s two tropes I like: AUs where characters switch dynamics, and when characters or people go by titles that don’t traditionally align with their gender identity. Like woman kings or, in the case of Star vs the Forces of Evil, Jushtin the Boy Queen. Admittedly they’re more so applied to align with the importance placed on patriarchal and/or matriarchal power but we’re not getting into that. Nor are we getting into the kind of weird patriarchal traits of the Catholic Church the Church of Ghost keeps hold to — there are real-world explanations for them, I suppose, and this is fanfiction.

What we are getting into is my blending of the two aforementioned tropes to create this…Well, I guess it’s a series of sorts now because each character segment got too hefty to belong to one singular post. My bad. But I digress:

Somewhere out there, there is a universe where you were a part of the bloodline that has long reigned the Satanic Church as a dark papal dynasty. And now the title of Papa, for better or worse, has fallen upon you. You’ve trained your entire life for this — mephistophically, that is. But few things can prepare someone for dealing with ghouls more than actual exposure can. And now with the task of utilizing music to corrupt and recruit falling upon you, you’ll have plenty of time to become familiar with these literal hellions.

Don’t worry, though: If there’s one thing that has remained consistent throughout the millennia, it’s that a Papa almost always finds that one ghoul form whom they develop a fondness for . . .

You had not, in fact, been the one to summon the ghoul known around the Ministry as “Primo”.

He had been walking these unhallowed grounds since before you were born. A ghoul having an extended tenure topside wasn’t unheard of, but the implications set by his humanoid appearance of a very tall old man seemed to punctuate that point. Was he genuinely that old? Did he use a bit of ghoul magic to influence his appearance? You weren't going to ask.

Coupled with the way he carried himself, his presence commanded respect, something which the Clergy had been surprisingly willing to oblige despite his species.

Primo was, for all intents and purposes, the ideal ghoul: He had an intense work ethic, he was loyal, and he was tame enough to be of use while also posing a threat to anyone who did the same towards the Clergy.

Even something as simple as his horns seemed perfect for his position: The four horns of a Jacob sheep’s spiked warningly from his flesh, the perfect sort of horns for a ghoul of the Satanic Church to bear if there ever was any!

Even though his original summoner had long since passed, they never asked him if he wanted to return to the Pit. And, to their credit, Primo never expressed any desire to. It was that kind of dedication that endeared him so and kept him at the ready to be a conduit for the Old One’s message.

It was also probably the only reason why he’d involved himself in the “Ghost Project” you had recently proposed in a board meeting, even though he had made it extremely apparent that he did not see you as worthy of the title of Papa. If anything, he did so in order to keep an eye on you.

Primo had served many Papas in his time topside. Suffice it to say, you were nothing like any of them! Where your ancestors commanded their dark flock, Primo felt you merely timidly nudged them. Where the Papas of yore spat promises of the Dark One's ire and the rot of man, you seemed to more so focus on concepts of personal principle. Not entirely incorrect, but it certainly felt like a watered down method of leading.

Where was the damned soul made of brimstone and hellfire? Where was that penetrating glare that could freeze the doubters? All the old ghoul saw when you assumed the mitre was a soft-spoken slip of something or other that had fumbled their way through the bloodline. Had it not been for The Mark that paled your left eye, he might have more vehemently – more violently – questioned your ascension.

But the Clergy made no movements to dismiss or discard you, and Primo had never been one to take impulsive action. So here he began to find himself: Sitting at a drum set for rehearsals, battering away whilst his peers made fools of themselves as they writhed about, mimicking sexual proclivities or just plain goofing off.

But for as much as he would glower at them, his true poison was always fixated on you: You, who clearly just wanted the attention the Dark One was supposed to be receiving. You, who was just plain wasting his time – time that could be put to more use around the Ministry instead of spending hour upon hour listening to you warble the same cheesy lyrics, bastardizing unholy psalms passed down through millennia.

But he was nothing if not a professional, attending all rehearsal sessions, barely speaking unless it was to keep the more juvenile bandmates in line. Though more often than not, need only shoot them a sharp stare with those magma-red eyes of his and they would stop immediately.

That was all you needed when, surprised that he would pick something as raucous as the drums, you attempted to offer something not as physically demanding or requiring of too much movement.

You had meant nothing by it, of course. If anything, it was an attempt on your part to at least try and build a communication with one of the people (?) you would be working with indefinitely. Your peers and predecessors as a whole weren’t known for extending much kindness to the ghouls under their power; that was something you wanted to change during your reign. The rest of the ghouls, bandmates and Ministry-established alike, seemed to appreciate that well enough but Primo . . . Well . . .

Weren’t earth ghouls supposed to be less . . . intense? Stubborn and a twinge terse, perhaps, but usually they still had a bit of gentleness to them after a point. But then again, Primo was in a class of his own. Or maybe he’d just been a fire ghoul at some point? Might explain the eyes . . .

Really, though, the praise you’d heard regarding his dedication towards Papas past had yet to make any real appearance beyond him not taking you out. And perhaps volunteering to participate in your brain child, though you felt that was more so out of obligation to the Church rather than out of any real reverence.

Given how blatant he had made his dislike of you from the get-go, you decided to accept his (admittedly impeccable) drumming skills as the closest thing to respect you were going to ever get out of him. Much like the Clergy, you weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth too hard.

Your magnum opus couldn't afford it and for as confident as you were in the prospects of it, you knew you would need all the help you could get. Even if some of it came from an ancient earth ghoul who wished you would keel over so the next guy could take over.

If Primo could grit his teeth, then you sure as shit could to get the results you were looking for. Even if the results meant enduring painstakingly awkward rehearsals, right up until Ghost's very first performance.

Primo knew not to expect much in the way of venues. After all, bands that merely copied their principles never had an easy foothold in the world, never mind an actual band representing the Church. In the end, it did make the most sense to perform in lowly places, places inhabited by those most vulnerable and willing to lend an ear. Still: He had not anticipated this . . . “Whiskey a Go Go” place to be your debut. Oh well. The crowd here clearly looked susceptible enough; he could handle it.

He didn’t approve of you donning your chasuble for such an event but at that point, what did it even matter? He just needed to literally play his part and get this over with. Maybe then this tomfoolery could be put to bed and you would be reprimanded for wasting the Ministry’s time and resources, sullying their trust.

At least, that had been the idea when the first song was signaled in.

But as the setlist progressed, Primo couldn’t help but note how his expectations weren't being met. In fact, quite the opposite was beginning to take hold. Like how the words sounded different even though they were the same ones he’d heard ad nauseum.

Snippets and verses clipped from corrupt hymns made themselves right at home in the measures, something he’d internally protested the first times he’d recognized their presence.

Rhythms sounded more coordinated against the acoustics of the venue, far different from the way they resonated in the makeshift practice room back at the Abbey. This was what they were meant to sound like? Not a tangled mess of notes and words struggling and biting and fighting for dominance, but actual music stretching to the rafters? Huh. Who would’ve thought?

And all the shenanigans his peers had participated in – back at the Ministry, it seemed so juvenile, so distracting. They weren’t taking this shameful display with any kind of seriousness. But in that moment, the jumping, the showboating, even the gyrating all seemed right at home on the stage.

But above all else, it was the response to it all: Audiences loved it. They loved the words, the chords, the riffs, the "ghouligan" behavior. And, perhaps most of all, they seemed to love you. Who you were, in this moment, was far from whom Primo had been seeing – whom he thought he saw – in the pulpit and at rehearsals.

All that had been apparent child's play. Or perhaps they were simply the wrong environment for your fullest potential. Here, on the stage, you positively bloomed, transforming into something radiant, something filled with infernal fervor. A little hell flower decked in infernal regalia, your chasuble catching the stage lights like petals collecting sunlight.

During the few times you would turn your back to the audience and faced him, he could see it even from his furthermost position in the back: That fire he thought you lacked, blazing from your every pore, brightening your eyes and casting long, dark shadows upon all before you.

Primo had been right: You truly were unlike any Papa he’d ever served before . . .

From then on, Primo was to decidedly keep a closer eye on you. No more having the rug pulled from beneath him. Clearly you were like a mystery seed: He had no idea what your potential truly was, having not quite encountered something like you before. As such, you needed to be . . . studied. If at a distance, for now.

However, it's a bit difficult to go unnoticed when you're a 6'1" ghoul with large horns when out of a glamour. Never mind that you had grown so used to his stare being fixed on you that you always knew when it had reappeared. Only, you couldn't help but feel that something about it was . . . different. Somehow.

It was normal enough to feel them during black mass because everyone's eyes were on you. But to feel them when you would go to the library to request old tomes even most Clergymen did not seek; when you slipped members of the Children's Ministry candy to perk them up after a particularly boring Latin Studies class with Bishop Malicion. Even in what should have been the sanctity of your office, you swore you could feel those red-hot eyes affixed to your person!

But the heat of them was gone now, and hadn't quite been there since the Whiskey a Go Go. Instead, they felt more curious. Maybe like a cat? Ghouls were often likened to cats above all other manner of beast but Primo had only resembled one in the way he composed himself. A trait like intrigue just seemed bizarre to picture him exhibiting, let alone so obviously.

However, you were still Papa throughout all this: Best not to dwell on it and instead keep focusing on keeping your project afloat. You would deal with whatever was going on with old Primo later.

(Though you couldn't stop yourself from feeling slightly giddy at the possible improvement. Having him give you the slightest hint of a nod while passing in the hallways was leagues better than having him radiate bloodlust or disdain!)

Later, however, came quicker than you had prepared yourself for. In fact, it arrived one curtain call during the band’s slow creep towards notoriety.

In hindsight, the fact he willingly held your hand for the final bow should have been a sign that something about tonight was going to be different. Normally, if he had to join hands with anybody, he made sure to position himself at the very end so he need only spare one hand and with another ghoul. Being virtually in the middle with you would have required effort on his part.

But you were abuzz, the performance having gone splendidly with a highly receptive and interactive crowd. You were quite proud of yourself and your ghouls if you said so yourself. Maybe the energy that evening was just enough to make Primo feel less rigid than usual?

You’d only just risen up from your bow, ready to release his hand when you noticed that he himself was not letting go of your own. Odd, considering he’d done so with the other ghoul he'd been holding. You tried not to look perplexed when you spared him a glance; maybe something was wrong and he needed you to be on high alert? Though, no, that wound up not being the problem – in fact, there was no problem whatsoever.

He just needed to keep your hand in his so that he could raise the back of your hand to his mask – where his mouth would be.

It was a pantomime of a kiss, sure, but the gesture was still very evident. Screeches of delight erupted from the audience below as heterochromatic eyes widened against black paint, staring at scarlet ones peering through the eyeholes of a mask.

Suffice to say, what fans Ghost had already garnered had a field day. Soon, fanzines featuring the visage of their new favorite band's lead singer and drummer would appear in grungy coffee shops and to be swapped at both Ghost shows and shows of other bands. It wasn't Time Magazine but the marketing practically handled itself, and that was good enough for the Ministry to quietly applaud Primo's forwardness.

Clearly the Ministry's favorite ghoul knew what the people wanted and took it upon himself to stoke the flames to drum up further intrigue and popularity.

So surely it made sense to continue fostering this relationship, right? For the good of authenticity, of course.

It wasn’t long at all before you found yourself confiding in Primo, bouncing lyrics off of him. Lyrics turned into discussions, dissections of your faith’s principles and even a few misconceptions that most were too tired to correct at this point.

And he, in turn, used his many, many, many years of wisdom in his services to you.

Even divulging into his life before the Ministry, what little there was worth recounting. There was good reason he’d stayed up here so long after all: Life topside was just so different, so brightly-lit when compared to the Pit. Sure, he might’ve been built exactly for the life infernal, but that didn’t mean that a ghoul lacked a capacity for more.

The biggest example in his case was the garden he’d kept during his time here. It was almost funny: You’d walked these grounds for so long, so used to the presence of the greenhouse that sat towards the back of the garden. The brightness of the vegetation and bushes stood out from its darker, more gothic-leaning surroundings in an almost silly way.

Really, though, your only real interactions with that section of the Ministry could be boiled down to times spent in your office. The window there allowed just enough of a view of the little land below, one you couldn’t help but look at when the tensions in your poorly-postured back traveled into your skull, or when a delivery ghoul delivered more heaps of papers for you to look over and sign. (Suddenly, feeling Primo's intense gaze on you even when you thought you were alone made sense.)

Your path to the antipapacy was basically carved out for you, it ironically left very little room for extracurriculars such as gardening. But you could always count on catching a Sibling or earth ghoul or two, hauling heavy sacks of soil and carting that season’s harvest in a wheelbarrow.

Their decision to spend their time on such a long-term task that demanded constant attention and dedication was admirable to you. You could relate to focusing in on a project that would take time and focus.

And to see their efforts be rewarded with something brilliant and fortifying, something that caught the eye and could be used to nourish both the body and mind . . .

In way, perhaps seeing the hardships that produced flowers and fruit might have served as inspiration and motivation for your idea to entice the masses with music. Just a twinge.

To learn that the very things that refreshed you in your moments of exhaustion had grown under the same watch as the one that had once wished you ill initially amazed you. And amused you.

The idea of ever having been afraid of Primo seemed so silly now, you couldn’t even remember what the heat of his ire felt like. If anything, the pierce of Primo’s gaze had softened into something . . . Well, the proper words escaped you any time you tried to settle on one. "Passionate" mixed with "admiration", but still with its tenderness.

As it turned out, that warmth earth ghouls were often characterized with did exist in the old curmudgeon. It was exhibited as the years marched on and as you both grew closer.

It was there even in small moments such as this, with you kneeling in the soil, planting your umpteenth flower. You had learned under his watch years ago and no longer needed instruction, but it still felt lovely to share this type of thing together. Even after all this time.

A grunt escaped you as you wobblily stood back up from aching knees, another when you cracked your back.

“One of these days, Primo,” you sighed, “I’m gonna get down and not be able to get back up. You can just bury me here, then.”

It was a joke, of course, and you were totally prepared to not get a laugh from the old ghoul. Primo’s sense of humor, you’d long since learned, was as mysterious as it was strange. It was frankly a wild guess as to what would make him laugh on any given day. What you hadn’t prepared for, though, was the way the ghoul’s eyes stared back at you. You didn’t feel unsafe or anything, but you certainly felt . . . observed.

There was that curious cat vibe that had started it all from way back when. But, knowing Primo as you now did, you knew he was simply collecting thoughts. He would eventually reveal them to you in due time.

In the meantime, though, it served you better to shake it off. Supper would be served shortly, anyway.

“Remember to wash up,” you offered, standing as high on your toe tips as you could just to place a peck on the soft, weary flesh of his neck. To that, you received a quiet grunt typical of your partner.

As you left, though, Primo kept his eyes on you, tail thoughtfully swaying behind him. He remembered seeing you sparingly in your youth, which was impressive considering how unimportant you’d been back then. You weren’t Papa, you weren’t anything, really. You weren’t important to him.

But now, years later, here you stood: Wrinkles that weren’t there before were beginning to carve their permanence into your features, standing out even through your papal paints. Just the other month, you’d noted an increase in silver strands popping up in your hair. You sighed something about the stresses of dealing with the next projected tour or an onslaught of paperwork, but Primo knew that soon, more silver would come sprouting out at your temples. More than you’d probably bother dyeing, if he knew you. If he knew the people before you.

He'd seen this all happen before, many, many times. You may have been different from all other Papas he’d known, but all Papas were alike in this one way.

A heavy sigh broke him from his stagnation, and Primo began to trek back to your chambers to wash up. Before he even entered the building proper, his mind was made: If and when your time came, Primo would finally request to return back to the Pit.

[cryptic-symbols]

John Darnielle is a complicated man and sometimes, I don’t know how, but sometimes I forget just how much he’s been through. I think many people’s perceptions of him, including my own, don’t make enough room for how complex he is. His love for the goth scene, his wholehearted and deeply personal support of queer art.

I was going through the old shit on Spotify and I came across Shadow Song.

If you get there before me, will you save me a seat?

If you get there before me, would you save me a seat?

And if I never get there at all

Would you leave the seat empty?

If you get there before me, will you light us a fire?

If you get there before me, will you light us a fire?

And if I never show, will you watch the embers glow?

You can keep the fire burning.

This is a song for you

In case I never make it through to where you are.

This is a song for you

In case I never make it through to where you are.

I was curious if he’d ever said anything about it, because it really resonated with me. It reminded me a lot of the Passover tradition of leaving a seat and a place at the seder for Elijah. I looked it up on the fandom wiki:

“This song is for a friend of mine with whom I had a short and turbulent friendship, who is presently down the road at a place called Hollywood Forever [Cemetery].” - John Darnielle, 2014-06-17, Mayan Theatre, Los Angeles, CA

John Darnielle has said several times that the person addressed in this song is Rozz Williams, a musician and friend of Darnielle's who died by suicide in 1998.

This is a song dedicated to an LGBTQ+ alt musician who was deeply influential in the goth scene, who regularly performed in drag as a rebellion against the jock presence in the punk scene. His first band, formed in 1978, was named the A-Sexuals: “Why can’t the asexuals be in the gay parade too?” he said. One of his bands was called the Shadow Project.

According to Wikipedia, The Coroner’s Gambit is dedicated to Williams, and several songs are about John Darnielle’s reaction to his death.

John Darnielle has played this song many, many times over the years, but one performance stood out to me.

[evilios]

If you're in search of a narrative where Athena utilizes her power to save a girl from assault, I urge you to check out the short tale of "the crow" who is nameless in Ovid (she is just called cornix) but later proposed the name of Corone ("crow" in Greek).

The tale of the crow as retold in the Metamorphoses suggests that Corone was a victim of attempted assault by Neptune who was saved by Athena out of pity before anything could take place and turned into a female crow.

Interestingly enough, Ovid's tie between a (female) crow and Athena is positive meanwhile that of a (male) crow and Apollo is punitive. Other sources tend to give the crow a negative/punitive connection with Athena, in contrast.